Monkey Can’t See Monkey Can’t Do
by Dingbat142001
Summary: Oneshot. When their son brings home a note from school, both parents are stumped as to why. But really, it isn’t all that much of a surprise; he’s just like his father. DL


**Title:** Monkey Can't See Monkey Can't Do

**Rating:** FRT  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. Just the idea.  
**Spoilers:** Season 5  
**Summary:** When their son brings home a note from school, both parents are stumped as to why. But really, it isn't all that much of a surprise; he's just like his father. DL

So I was watching an old rerun of Home Improvement (oh man, I forgot how funny that was), and this particular ep (The Eyes Don't Have It, season 4, episode 4) had Mark bringing home a letter from the teacher. Boom, fic was born!

* * *

"Wow, dad! I didn't know you could pitch like that!" exclaimed an excited youth as he came through the apartment door. "You could have been in the Majors!"

A light chuckle escaped the father as he opened a closet door just off the small foyer to deposit a bat and two pairs of shoes; one set of size 10 runners, and the other a pair of cleats, size 5. "Yeah, in another life," the father mused, having made amends decades ago with his forced change of career, (although, that didn't deter him from playing with the neighbourhood fathers and sons every Thursday at the diamond just a few blocks away).

"Hey mom," the boy called out, turning into the kitchen where he knew he would find his mother "You shoulda seen it!"

"There are a lot of things I should have seen, Tyler Messer," his mother said, leaning against the counter with an unhappy look across her face, and a crumpled piece of paper and envelope in her hand.

"What is it, Montana?" Danny asked, coming up behind the 9 year old who looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

Turning to the piece of paper, Lindsay Messer read aloud,

_Dear: Mr. and Mrs. Messer, it is with great displeasure that I write requesting a meeting with the parents of one Tyler Messer. Although he is a delight to have in class, Mr. Messer as of late has been showing signs of distraction, thus resulting in a decrease in grades and involvement. If time will allow it, a meeting between myself and a parental figure would be beneficial to determining where any agitation may lie within your son... _

"...la la la, signed Mrs. Collins." Lindsay concluded, handing the letter off to Danny before looking expectantly at their normally respectful, diligent son.

Apparently not sure of what to say, the Messer youth stammered "You... you looked through my stuff?!"

Cocking an eyebrow, Lindsay crossed her arms in front of her chest, "I found it in the pocket of the pants you wore yesterday while I was doing laundry. If you don't want me to find this stuff, you better learn to do you own laundry."

"What's goin' on Ty?" Danny asked, perplexed as his wife. "You never get letters."

"Nothin's wrong."

"Try again," Danny frowned.

"I didn't do anything," Tyler implored, turning to his mom, doing his best to use those blue eyes, how very much like his father's, against her.

"Tyler," Danny warned.

"I said I didn't do anything!" was the boy's final plea before turning and making his way to his room. Having been parents long enough, Danny and Lindsay stood silently in the kitchen watching their son stalk off. _'If he's anything like his father, give him his space and eventually, he'll talk'_ was the advice of one very wise and very patient Grandma Messer.

"What do you think's bothering him?" Lindsay finally asked, removing chicken and various different kinds of vegetables from the fridge.

"I dunno," Danny said, having washed his hands at the sink, and began to julienne an onion. "He's a smart kid. I can't see him having a problem with the material."

"Maybe it's not school itself," Lindsay pondered, dicing the chicken into little cubes. "The note said he seems distracted. Bully maybe? I mean, he is a little small for his age."

"Naw, if it was a bully, we'd be able to tell," Danny pointed out, both parents being aware that given their profession, they could read body language a bit better than most parents.

"Maybe-" the ring of a cell phone cut Lindsay off at the pass. Putting the chicken in a frying pan with one hand, she fumbled her cell in the other. Without even looking at caller ID she knew this conversation would have to be put on hold.

"Monroe."

"Hate to bother on your days off, but we got a high profile triple and I'm gonna need both of you," Mac said amid a commotion at whatever crime scene he was at. "Give us 30," she said and tapped Danny on the shoulder. Cocking her head in the direction of the door (a universal sign in the Messer household meaning work) all dinner preparations were stopped and work-prep began.

"Can do," and Mac was gone.

No communication was needed, for the routined events fell together around them. Danny went down the hall to ask Mrs. Nowak, the retired, widowed, nurse (with a budgie) if she could keep an eye on Tyler (as she always did once or twice a week), while Lindsay told her mopping son, "This conversation isn't over," before kissing him on the forehead. By the time Danny got back, Lindsay had gathered together her accessories, along with his jacket, badge, wallet, and gun, so that all he had to do was slip on his shoes and head for the door.

And thus was the life at the Messer residence.

* * *

A few days later...

Removing his bag from the hook, he was just about to throw it over his shoulder when his cell rang. Opening it, he briefly saw a picture of his giggling (at the time) wife and answered.

"So? What'd she say?"

Lindsay replied with a small chuckle "Well, hello to you too. Oh, I'm fine, thank you for asking."

Leaning against the locker, Danny smirked, "Good day oh stunning creature, beautiful wife, and mother of my child. How art thee on this fine spring eve?"

"Oh, shut up," she chided before answering his first question. "Well, first off, she says he's a brilliant student and a _'mere pleasure'_" she air quoted herself "to have in class."

"Then what's the problem?" the proud, though very confused father asked.

"She says he's not paying attention. When he should be write things down, he doesn't, he's been caught talking to classmates when the teacher's talking, and when he's asked to answer question she writes on the board, he says he doesn't know."

"Any ideas?"

"Um…well…there was something…but you're gonna think I baby him too much…that I'm just being overprot-"

"Honey…"

Lindsay laughed to herself, "Yeah, ok, uh, you know how one of us is usually on call, well, maybe he's upset that we're working too much. You know, maybe he just wants his mom around more."

Danny couldn't help it. He laughed. "What were you saying about babying him too much?"

"See, I knew you'd laugh at me," Lindsay sighed into the phone.

"I'm not laughing at you, Linds. I'm laughing at the idea. He's 9, almost 10. As soon as he hits the double digits, he'll want nothing to do with us."

"Yeah, yeah, you're right. Forget I said anything."

But it was too late to take back. He could already hear the sadness in her voice; the fact that their son was growing up, and would grow somewhat distant when he would sooner or later hit his teens always made her sad.

"But… I'll ask him," Danny said, exiting the locker room towards the elevator. For the next two weeks, he would be ending his shift, while Lindsay would be starting hers.

"Alright," he heard the grin in her voice, "Don't forget he has practice tonight."

Danny scoffed, "Like I could forget that. It's like whenever Stella knows there's a sale at Tiffany's. A sixth sense all Messer children have been born with for gener-."

"Uh huh," his wife good-naturedly cut him off, "Just makes sure he eats before, and that his homework gets finished."

"Yeah, I got it," Danny said, leaving the building.

Lindsay sighed into her cell again, "It's the playoffs tonight. I wish I could be there."

"He understands," Danny asserted, trying to sooth her.

"I know, but I just wanted to be there. It's the first time his league has made it in, and I should be there, supporting him."

"He knows you wanted to be there. He gets it."

"Yeah, but-"

"Hey, no, no buts. That science night that his class had last month, I couldn't make it and I cursed the DB the whole night. But the next day when he showed me that 3rd place ribbon, and his display, I couldn't have been more proud."

"Yeah…he did do pretty awesome, didn't he?" Lindsay giggled on the other end.

"Sure did. And yeah, he might have been a little sad that I couldn't make it, but he knew that I wanted to, and the only reason that I couldn't was because I was making the world a better place for him."

"Wow… you should write greeting cards for Hallmark."

Danny laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand as he crossed the street "Lindsay…"

"I kid because I love," he could practically feel her smile through the phone. "Just tell him that I'm proud of him, and that I really wanted to be there."

"He already knows, but yeah, sure. Don't worry, I'll videotape it. And there are more playoff games to come; I can feel it."

"Sale at Tiffany's again?" she joked at his earlier comment.

"You know it. And who knows, I might pick you up a little somethin'" The husband said, continuing the joke that only him and his wife would understand.

"Some homeruns would be nice, but I'll settle with grass stains."

"We'll see what we can do," he smiled again.

"Hey, I gotta go. I'm running out of bars."

"Yeah, alright. Love you. Be safe," he said. He really didn't like her working the evening shift, especially when he wasn't there to make sure she was alright if something were to happen. But so was the life.

"Love you too, bye."

* * *

"Come on Ty, you're gonna be late for practice," Danny said, going into his son's room to find Tyler lying on the floor with his head under his bed.

"I can't find my glove," came an exasperated voice from somewhere under the frame.

"Well, where did you last put it?"

"In here somewhere…"

Danny briefly pinched the bridge of his nose. "How very helpful..." he said more to himself then anything, before searching the room with an Investigator's eye. Dresser, drawers, closet, shelf, no luck was had. While they searched, Danny briefly mulled over what Lindsay had said earlier after her meeting with Tyler's teacher.

Her concerns did have some merit. They did work quite a bit, and when they were at home, one, or both, would sure to be called out. Both Uncle Mac and Aunt Stella tried very hard to give them family time, but unfortunately, crime didn't have the same understanding.

"You know, you're mom talk to your teacher today," Danny said, easing into a conversation that he, himself as a child, hated. "Mrs. Collins says you're not paying attention like you usually do."

Ty's head appeared from under the bed as he stood and began rummaging through his duffle bag of equipment, "Yeah, I am."

"Then what is it?"

"Nuthin'", Tyler shrugged, diving his fingers through the folds of his spare baseball uniform.

"Is the work getting too hard for you?" Danny asked, taking the CSI route and starting with the questions.

"No," Ty scoffed.

"Too easy?"

"No."

Again, "Is anyone buggin' you?"

"No," Tyler shook his head adamantly.

"You mad at mom for not being able to come?"

"Not really."

"You worried that your mom and I don't spend enough time you?"

"No," was said in an exasperated sigh.

Danny shrugged his shoulders in a helpless gesture, "You worried about Male pattern baldness?"

Tyler's face contorted into the same expression he held whenever he caught his parents kissing. "Ew! Dad, stop it!"

The father threw his hands up in frustration "Come on kid, throw me a bone!"

"Nuthin's bothering me! Would you just stop asking stupid questions?!" Tyler threw his bag on the floor and made way for the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" Danny said, stepping in front of his son, blocking the only exit, other than the window, for Tyler to flee through. "We're not leaving this room till you tell me what's going on."

"But-" the boy looked crushed.

"Yeah, you'll miss practice. Oh well," Danny nonchalantly began looking through Tyler's bookshelf, pulling out a book on Dinosaurs and sifting the pages.

"But today we start the playoffs!" The sound of his son whining made Danny cringe, but tough love was a thing children had to learn.

"Uh huh… oh hey, did you know that Supersaurus' scapula, itself, was over 6 feet tall? Wow, that's-"

"Please, dad! I swear, after the game."

"After the game _what_?" Danny asked, finding himself mildly engrossed in the pages of the Jurassic period.

"I'll talk," Tyler sighed.

Looking up from the text, Danny eyed the boy. He was bouncing on his toes in an anxious gesture, while scrunching up his face like he usually did when he desperately wanted something. Danny was positive that if Tyler had of been a girl and in this position, she would have been batting her eyelashes and blinking what were sure to be whiskey hued eyes. Folding the book closed, Danny replaced it on its shelf.

"Fine, but find your glove first."

* * *

Tyler's team ended up advancing to their next game, but the talk Tyler promised would have to wait. The coach was so pleased with his team, he took them, parents included, for some ice cream, and by the time father and son got home, Tyler had just enough time to shower before bed.

The next morning Tyler woke at 7 to find his mother in the kitchen, robe tied around her waist.

"Morning, sweetie," Lindsay said, sipping a coffee in her favourite cow-like black and white spotted mug.

"Morning," Tyler mumbled, falling ungracefully into his chair at the table and reaching for the box of cereal before him.

"How'd you sleep?" his mother asked, sitting across from him.

With a spoon and mouthful of Honey Nut Cheerios blocking any ability to talk, Tyler put his thumb up in an A-Okay gesture.

"That's good. Did you hear me come in?"

Ty swallowed and shook his head "No."

Lindsay smiled, not bothering to ask any more questions so Tyler could finish his cereal before the Cheerios went mushy. Tyler hated mushy cheerios. Once Tyler was finished, he rose and put his bowl in the sink.

"You're dad told me you won your game," Lindsay brought up, watching her son move to the fridge and pull out his lunch bag.

"Yeah, Coach said we did good."

"Well good for you. I really wished I could have been there," the mother told the son.

"Meh, it's alright," he shrugged, placing his lunch bag in his backpack and zipping it up "But you can come next week, right?"

Lindsay nodded, "Absolutely." After Tyler had gone to bed, Danny had called her at work and told the news. Once the call ended, she went straight to Uncle Mac and requested the next game night off. Mac had agreed, but ultimately it would be a crime scene's decision.

"Alright," Ty smiled, moving to the living room couch and turned on the television to wait till it was time to leave. The Batmobile came on the screen as the high-pitched scream of tires signaled yet another car chase for the animated superhero.

Lindsay stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room then moved to sit on the other end of the sofa; she enjoyed watching the capped crusader just as much as the next Messer.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lindsay watched as Tyler's attention of Bruce Wayne was diverted half way throw the program. Playing with his watch, he cast his eyes down towards his lap and bit his lip methodically, before speaking shyly, "I can't see the board at school." Turning to his mother, he looked so helpless, "I think I need glasses."

Tucking a leg underneath her, Lindsay turned to him on the couch.

"Is that what's bothering you?" she asked, reaching out to flick some hair from his eyes (he really did need a haircut). "Well, that's not so bad."

"Yeah it is," the boy turned away and played with the seam of his pants.

"Honey, lots of people your age, and younger, wear glasses."

"You don't get it," Tyler mopped, "Kids already think I'm a dork. If I get glasses then I'll be a bigger dork."

"Sweetie, nobody thinks you're a dork," Lindsay reassured.

"Then why do they call me dork?"

Lindsay's heart broke at the words. How dare these children call her son a dork? What right did they have to be so cruel to _her_ little man? Patting his knee, Lindsay spoke.

"Well, because, some kids are just mean. They think it makes them cool and respected by their peers," she said, inwardly loathing the children that were the cause of her son's pain "But you know what, it doesn't."

Tyler looked up at his mother through blue eyes, "Really?"

"Yup," Lindsay nodded with a gentle smile. "You want to know what makes someone cool and respected; their personality. Those who stick up for their friends, those who share their lunches and trade baseball cards, those who are friends to anyone, no matter what they look like or how they act. That is what cool is." Pausing briefly, Mrs. Messer regarded her son and used a finger under his jaw to guide his head upwards so she could look into those bright eyes "And you know what, you do all that stuff."

Tyler's shoulders straightened as he perked up, crinkling his eyebrows for just a moment, "So, I'm cool?"

"The coolest," she stated matter-of-factly.

Tyler smiled his father's crooked smile as he moved over to hug his mother. "Thanks mom."

"Any time," she hugged back, blinking back a few stray tears. This conversation was more difficult then she thought it would be. Her poor baby.

Just as they broke apart, a knock upon the door startled them both. "Oh, that would be your cue," Lindsay said, rising and following her son to the door.

Opening the door, 3 grinning faces greeted her from beyond the threshold.

"Hi Mrs. Messer," all 3 said in unison.

"Good morning Frankie, Steve, Michelle," she smiled to the trio of bus buddies. Since he started attending school, it had been a customary thing for some children of the building to make it to the bus together. Frankie, Steve, Michelle, and Tyler had their own little quartet, and the parents couldn't have been happier with the safety in numbers. While Tyler was getting a little too old to have his parents walk him to the corner, she could see his bus stop from the living room window, and could keep an eye on them until the bus arrived.

"Hey Ty," Michelle said shyly from the door, watching as Tyler put on his shoes and grabbed his backpack.

"Hi," he replied, making his way to the door. Just as he was about to leave, his mother touched his shoulder briefly. "I'll make an appointment then we can get some cool shades, okay?"

"Yeah, thanks mom,"

"Ok, be safe. Love you,"

"You too," said the Messer youth as all four Musketeers made their way down the hall.

* * *

A few days later…

The apartment was silent as the grave when Danny Messer returned home. But this wasn't a reason to worry. It was Lindsay's day off and she and Tyler had an appointment with the Optometrists after school….which was roughly an hour and a half ago.

Toeing off his shoes, he made his way to the master bedroom. Once inside, he threw his bag onto the bed and stripped. Removing everything, he showered, cleansing himself clean, and redressed. Lifting his dirty clothes, he was about to place them in the hamper when he noticed said hamper was empty. Lindsay had done laundry already, but she'd definitely kill him (and make it look like a suicide) if he left his filthy, decomp reeking clothes in the bedroom. Leaving the apartment, he quickly entered the laundry room, threw in the clothes, checked his watch and headed back down the hall.

Ever since Tyler was born, Danny had become so domesticated that it made his mother cry. If she had of know it would have taken a wife and child to make him clean up after himself, she would have suggested it as soon as he hit puberty.

Once back in his apartment, the husband and father began dinner preparation (since he had tomorrow off, sleeping could be put on hold). Mixing some of this and a bit of that, while throwing in a pinch of whatever it was, he whipped up a casserole, handed down from some great-great-great-great-great grandmother on his father's side, and set the table.

An abrupt bang halted everything as the door flew open, hitting the other side of the wall, and in popped a clearly upset 9 year.

"Hey, Ty, what's-"

"Leave me alone!" The child cried before closing his bedroom door with a little more force than necessary.

"What's with him?" Danny asked once his wife entered the apartment and removed her shoes. Lindsay ran a hand threw her hair and sighed.

"Everything was fine. Dr. Carlen said that he did need glasses but only for reading and writing, so we checked some out and Ty picked out a really nice pair. He thought they were great. Then we got back here and everything fell apart."

"How?" Danny asked, concerned for his son.

"You know that Calvin boy a few floors down? Well, we bumped into him, and while I was helping Mr. Taveras, from down stairs, with his groceries, I heard that brute of a boy make a few comments. Tyler got upset, and you saw the end result."

"Damn," Danny mumbled under his breath and ran his hand over his eyes. He knew that Calvin kid had a bully complex, and he was almost positive that once puberty hit, the Messer's would have their hands full issuing arrests for vandalism or burglary on the kid. But to pick on _his_ son, while his mother was there, not a wise move.

"So, what do you want to do?" Linds asked, "You know how hard it was to get him to tell us he needed glasses in the first place…"

"I'll talk to him."

"You sure?" she queried.

"Yeah, I got an idea."

"Alright, you do that, I'll finish supper."

* * *

Maneuvering through his bedroom, Danny made a brief stop to sift around the nightstand on his side of the bed before heading to his son's room.

Knocking, he stuck his head into the room, "Hey, I come in?"

Lying on his bed, Tyler threw a nerf ball, from a pile beside him, against the wall, caught it in his glove (that he found in the laundry basket), then threw it again. He shrugged and Danny took that as a sign to enter.

Moving to sit at the foot of the bed, Danny too threw a nerf ball, though against an opposite wall.

"You're mother told me about Calvin."

Tyler shrugged, and continued to throw the squishy orange ball.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Tyler again refused to answer audibly, but he did shake his head in a 'No'.

"That's fine," the father nodded, "how 'bout we talk about me instead? That cool?"

Tyler shrugged again, and Danny nodded.

"Alright," the father began, "I was half way through grade 2, I guess two years younger than you are now, and my teacher, Mrs. Platt was her name, she called you're Grandma and Grandpa, my parents, one day, wanting to meet them, just like yours did, to talk about me."

Danny paused to look over at his son. Ty was now rolling the ball in small circles in the palm of his hand, shifting between looking at the ball, to his father, then back to the ball. Danny continued.

"Turns out, I wasn't paying attention when I should have, and like you, my grades decreased. But _unlike_ you, I didn't tell my parents and the closer it got to the end of the year, the closer I got to repeating because my grades were so low.

By now, Tyler had given his father his undivided attention.

"Anyway, I was afraid to repeat so I talked to Uncle Louie, and he said I should tell my parents. So I did, and they made me get glasses, and back then they were really big, like those goggles scuba divers wear, and really thick, like this" he said, using his thumb and forefinger as a measurement, albeit an exaggerated one.

"So yeah, I got glasses, and I was made fun of, but going to school with an older brother meant you had someone to look out for you. And I know that even though you don't have an older sibling, you got your friends, and they'll watch your back no matter what, cause they don't care what you look like, just as long as your they're friend."

Danny took this time to look at his son. Tyler was looking at him with awe and wonder, like the first time he went to the zoo and got to ride a camel, but he was also looking a bit confused.

"But, you don't have glasses."

Danny cocked his head to the side, "Sit up; got something to show you."

Tyler did as he was told and threw his legs over the same side of the bed as his father. It was then that he noticed the small case, almost like his own, on his father's lap.

Dropping the nerf ball from his hand, Danny moved to open the case. It opened with a small little ratcheting sound, and lying inside were a pair of, rectangular framed titanium glasses.

"Wow," Ty exclaimed, "They look just like mine!"

"Do they? I haven't seen yours."

Tyler looked away sheepishly before pulling the leather case out from under his pillow. Opening it, Tyler's words were true when an identical pair of framed glasses were produced, only smaller.

"Hey, would you look at that," the older generation of Messer mused.

"Can you put them on?" the younger asked nervously.

"Only if you do."

Tyler shrugged his shoulders, reached into the case, spread the thin arms and brought them up to rest on his nose. Turning to his father he laughed a little when he noticed his dad had also put on his glasses…and he looked a little odd.

"You look weird," Tyler said, tilting his head this way and that as he looked at his dad.

Danny smiled. "Once you get used to them, they're not weird at all."

Pondering slightly, Tyler fiddled with the leather case in his lap. "Why don't you wear them? Does that mean I don't have to?"

"No," Danny explained "You need yours for reading and writing; all that school stuff. It's not good to squint, and your eyes would eventually get worse. I also need mine for reading and writing but I wear contacts most of the time."

"Why?"

"Because of my job. What your mom, and I, and Uncle Flack, and everyone else does is a little dangerous," he said, downplaying the severity of their job, "There's some running, and jumping, and there's a big chance that my glasses would fall off whenever I needed them most."

"Oh," Tyler seemed a little down at this, "but I still have to wear mine?"

"Yes. You're too young to wear contacts. When you're older we'll talk more about it, k?"

"Alright," the boy agreed, unfolding and refolding the cleaning rag given with ever pair of glasses.

"Good," Danny said, patting his son's knee. "So, what do you think of yours? Did you see any cool frames?"

"Yeah, I saw some aviator glasses that were really cool, but they didn't work for me, and there were some like Uncle Sid's, but mom said no. So I got these instead."

"They look fine. They work for you."

"Yeah, mom said I look handsome," Tyler curled his lip in disgust.

Danny laughed, "Oh yeah, just wait till the girls see 'em."

"Ew, dad, that's gross," Tyler covered his ears.

"It's ready!" Lindsay's voice carried through the apartment.

"Alright, go wash up," Danny said, ushering his son out the room, and making his own way into the kitchen to find Linds rummaging in the fridge.

"Smells great," he rubbed his hands together "Anything left for me to do?"

"Nope, just…" the words fell off as she stood and turned to him, a wide smile adorning her lips.

"What?"

Lindsay walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck "You have your glasses on," she said coyly.

"What? Oh yeah. Forgot about 'em."

"So, that was your idea?" she asked, "Tell him that he's just like dad?"

"Yup," her husband replied, nudging her nose with his in little Eskimo kisses "works every time."

"Mmhmm… he smart like his dad, charming like his dad, handsome like his da-"

"Ew! Sick! Stop it! Come on ma, I'm stravin' over here!" Tyler hollered from the kitchen table.

"And just like his dad, he thinks with his stomach," Lindsay laughed, pulling away from Danny to sit across from her son, eyeing the glasses both her men wore.

Smiling to herself, she watched as both them took a rather large helping of casserole, and a smaller amount of vegetables. Shaking her head, she marveled at the way they both sat, both held their utensils, and the way they both talked, with that distinctive New York accent.

But really, it wasn't all that much of a surprise.

Tyler Messer was just like his father.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **_Huh, that was longer than I thought it'd be. Sweet! I know most DL futurefics has more than 1 child, but I couldn't figure out how to write a sibling in. Suck it up. Also, I hope I got anything regarding the glasses right. I don't wear glasses, and as everyone in my entire family has glasses, except for maybe 4, I don't really know all the emotions one feels when they realize that they do need them. Sorry for any errors. Oh, and I have no idea how a 9 year old would act so Tyler might seem a little older, or younger, (depending on your view) then 9. Sorry again.


End file.
